


Twisted

by AngelAxexinf



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, The Clone Wars AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1885473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelAxexinf/pseuds/AngelAxexinf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is a prisoner in the castle, accused of an atrocity she didn't commit and condemned to live with a cursed man. This man is Cursed for reasons unknown to her, but she does know one thing; she'd rather die than have anything to do with him. Each day she searches for an escape as he slowly grows more and more attached to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She woke with a start, her sides aching, lungs heaving against the tight hold her ribs had on every desperate gasp for breath. Her stiff fingers gripped the thin, soft sheets below her, limbs trembling and eyes wide, but not seeing anything in the dark. Her heart pounded in her bones, fighting for freedom.

A forced deep breath and she was sitting up in bed. Her clothing clung heavily to her damp skin, and she considered removing the restricted night clothes before she realized she was shivering uncontrollably. Shaking hands gripped her chest, arms, legs, anything to keep the shivers from taking over her whole body.

Moonlight cast it's eerie, erratic light about the expansive chamber—no, it wasn't moonlight, it was lightning, flashing, receding, and flashing again every few seconds.

Thunder boomed. Wind struck the large, curved windows on her right. They shuttered, but didn't give way to nature's onslaught. She recognized that it was the clap of thunder that had suddenly woken her.

It didn't matter; she wasn't sleeping well.

With still-shaking hands, she combed her fingers through her hair, black, wavy shocks tumbling over her face. Another deep breath, this one less forced, filtered through her nose.

A few breaths later and her heart beat had returned to its natural pace. She sat up more fully on her soft bed, tucking her cold feet under her. Lightning flashed again, casting a temporary brightness on the extravagant furniture in the chamber. She examined her skin, pale blue and seemingly glowing in the night air.

Without warning, her throat closed, her airways restricted with the presence of someone outside her door. Cold fingers gripped her spine in response to the waiting person in the hall, her limbs automatically locking in place and refusing her brain's frantic pleas to move.

 _He_ was on the other side of the door, thick wood being the only thing to separate them.

The woman didn't move, eyes fixed on the double-doors.

A light tap sounded through the high ceiling of her chambers.

A pause. Then a voice.

"Are you alright?" His voice carried through the thick wood, deep and concerned.

She sat stone still, fingers moving carefully over the sheets and gripping them tightly. Her eyes stared at the door, willing the man on the other side to disappear from the hall.

"You…I heard you scream." His voice was softer now, but still loud enough to be heard. The thunder faded into the background and swallowed itself whole, the only noise audible to her her own thudding heart.

His presence remained solidly behind the door.

She considered saying something to the stranger. After three days of staying at the massive castle, this was the closest she'd come into contact with the only other soul there.

Hesitantly, as if regretting every movement, she felt him step away from the door, his presence soon fading into the cold air of the halls.

Only then did she relax, her muscles loosening and shoulders barely shaking. Without a sound, she curled back up under the cool sheets, wishing away the goose bumps that had risen on her arms.

Thunder reappeared, intruding on the silence that had descended on the large, dark room. She curled herself into as tight a ball as possible, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.

##

She woke to soft pressure against her head, warm, bright sunlight filtering through the clear windows and warming the wooden floor.

She had to think about the soft, repeating pressure to her head, to remember what exactly it was. It went from her scalp, finger tip-like feelings tracing through her hair and over her shoulder before it went back up.

The spirits. The invisible creatures, the living Forces that pervaded the very walls of the castle were by her that morning. They had no bodies, no physical forms to mark their existence. Only the soft warmth that sometimes pressed against her arms or the strange whispery voices they often spoke in told they were in the room.

She felt them in the back of her head right then, gently waking her up to start her fourth day at the castle. She ignored them, pulling the blanket tighter over her shoulders and huffing when they were rudely ripped away from her. The whispers grew impatient as they tried their best to pull her from the bed.

If she could have swatted them, she would have. Begrudgingly and not without swears, she sat up on the soft mattress, stretching her arms above her head. The whispers ushered her without hands, leading her to the mirror that was directly parallel to the foot of her bed.

Sitting carefully on the plush red cushions of the vanity seat, she examined her reflection in the clear, clean mirror.

Black hair, dark pink lips, and freckles. Her blue skin looked clear from what she could see, the darker blue freckles spread unevenly across the bridge of her nose and under her eyes. She looked herself in the eye, examined her pupil-less purple irises. Today there were flecks of green and blue around the edges—very small, but still there; yesterday was gold and red.

The whispers chattered pleasantly in the back of her mind, entertaining themselves with the multitude of colors in her eyes.

Apparently, her species wasn't common in that area. Of course, she knew that.

The woman stood and dressed, letting the fine fabrics of her green dress fall over her curves and wincing as she stretched her arm too far.

A light pressure, warm and soft, pressed against her lower back. The owner—or owners—of the voices were very pleased with they'd done. Their happiness spun in lazy circles around her, heating her face and making her finger tips tingle. The swirling feeling then pointed to the door, the solid wood swinging inward of its own accord.

The small Forces were something she had learned to get used relatively quickly, as they'd made her feel welcome and comfortable on her first night of imprisonment in the palace. She could have sworn she'd heard singing as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

The woman knew what they were trying to do. They wanted her to meet the second soul of the castle, the only other person to live there. Her booted feet remained stubbornly glued to the floorboards.

An almost-sigh rang in her head as the Forces gave up on getting her to be social. They soon swirled away, dispersed throughout the empty rooms and halls of the palace.

The woman knew very well that the other person here owned the palace. Her reasoning, therefore, was that he wanted her there for whatever reason. Whether he'd arranged the false accusations pitted against her or not had yet to be determined.

Even if she'd wanted to meet him for whatever reason, it would have been a more tedious task than she was then willing to put up with; he rarely made his presence around her known, always quickly ducking into passageways she had yet to find or turning corners and disappearing into locked bedrooms. She never would have thought him to be the shy type, considering how her imprisonment was likely his doing.

She strolled out the door, down and through halls, until she reached the main front door. She remembered the night she'd first arrived at the empty castle. There had been rain that drowned the air and thunder that split the earth. She'd been disoriented and in pain, shivers beginning to rip through her skin.

She didn't remember how she got to the bed. Only dry clothing and warmth resting on her forehead remained in the patchy areas of her memory.

Soon enough, she was outside, and the bright rays of the morning sun eradicated the darkness in her mind. Careful not to step in the puddles gathered in the dips of the path, she made her way to the flower gardens on the east side of the castle. When she saw the massive expanse of colorful flowers, her shoulders almost sagged in relief; the storm hadn't destroyed the flowers. Each one bobbed gently in the breezes that blew over the land, the sun illuminating each and every petal that sprouted from their centers.

She bent to gently pluck one. It was pink with blue spots, and so far those ones were her favorite. The flowerbeds were where she spent the next hour or so, examining the multitude of plants and sculptures that graced the pathways.

It was when she was crouched over a bush full of small yellow flowers—her back to the castle—that she felt her lower back muscles chill and freeze up despite the warm air. The hairs on the back of her neck instantly prickled, goose bumps rising on her biceps.

She didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

 _He_ was behind her, studying the way she sat crouched on the stone path near the bush. Neither said anything for a long while.

"That's a biren flower bush," he said, his voice soft. He sounded almost…shy.

She refused to turn around, maintaining a glare on the poor flower in her fingers and _willing_ him to go away.

Whether or not he heard her demands in his mind was unanswered. She heard him shuffle forward with uneven footsteps, as if he were placing more weight on his right foot than his left. He stopped when he saw her bristle.

Preparing his words carefully, mapping out each sound in his head with extreme detail, he spoke to the woman's back. "What…what's your name?"

She didn't fail to notice the hesitance with which he spoke. She heard the strange almost-lisp he had, as if half his face were relaxed and wouldn't budge.

"Kiki." Her voice rasped a bit from lack of use. Kiki didn't say anything after that, though, instead choosing to thumb the flowers before her.

"Kiki…" he whispered to himself. She could tell he was rolling her name around in his head, committing its sounds and syllables to memory—she didn't like it.

There was more of the awkward shuffling behind her. "You…haven't eaten yet. Would you like some breakfast?"

Kiki didn't know much about him; he had tan skin, and was bald. All this she had gathered from her last walk in the gardens when he'd risked a peek around a corner of a wall. Just as she had looked up, he'd run away.

His patience was probably able to stretch to eternity if necessary, because he didn't leave until he got some sort of response.

Kiki's curiosity got the better of her—not only that, but his continued presence was making her uncomfortable. With deliberate movements, she stood up, her back still facing him. She turned, fully intending to demand what it was that he wanted.

Her hand flew to her mouth as she swallowed what could have been a gasp or what little food she'd eaten the night before.

Kiki stared wide-eyed at the half-twisted face of the man before her. Scars marred the left side of his head, twisting the skin on his cheek—

_No, there was no cheek._

His lips were normal until the middle of his face, where they thinned and turned a bit raw, red, slightly flaky skin where his lips ended. She could see his teeth, each and every molar on the left side of his face, and the tan skin that met up directly with those white teeth. If there were gums, they were under his skin.

Kiki didn't swallow her gasp out of shock. His body language, the very way he held himself and shrunk away from her recoil, was what had made her pause.

"I-It's alright if you…don't want to eat anymore," he stammered. The look in his eye, right before she'd tried to hide her gasp of horror behind her hand, had been one of hope.

He thought that _maybe_ she wouldn't run away and cower at the ugliness of his face. _Maybe_ she would have ignored the twisted scars that took over half his head; that she would actually be comfortable around him.

Kiki's hand remained over her mouth, her lips parted in silent horror behind it. The sight alone of where his cheek should have been made her stomach roll. No words formulated in her mind as she stood, all her muscles tethered to the stone pathway. Ever so slowly, she studied the rest of him; the right side of his face remained completely undamaged, his even, tan skin uninterrupted by any blemishes. Golden brown eyes studied her purple ones.

Kiki saw the look in his eye, small but bright hope dashed against sharp rocks, broken and not likely to be fixed anytime soon. The very way he hunched his shoulders and tried to turn his face away from her left a small, sour tendril of guilt in the pit of her stomach.

She slowly removed her hand from her mouth. "What's your name?" she asked softly. Kiki didn't miss the look of wonder on his face.

"My name…?" He stopped recoiling long enough to look at her closely. His pupils dilated as if he were lost in thought for a moment as he met her eyes. "I…don't have one…"

Kiki stood in silent confusion for a moment. "You don't have one?"

He silently shook his head. He looked ashamed of himself. "No."

She felt the last of her repulsion slowly trickle away through her feet. Maybe he did have a name, but just couldn't remember for whatever reason. Kiki risked a tiny shuffle forward.

His first reaction was to take a larger step back, his shoulders almost completely crowding his ears. She never would have guessed that he'd be _afraid_ of her. After realizing that Kiki wouldn't make any other move, he straightened a little, but still made an effort to hide as much of his face as he could.

Awkward silence stretched between them; Kiki studied his face and he tried not to let her.

"Do you still want breakfast?" he asked after the silence grew to be unbearable. His eyes met hers for the barest of seconds before they fell to the flowers by his feet.

Kiki studied the man before her. She didn't directly lay her sight on his grotesque face, instead eyeing the clothing he wore. He had gloves on, the sleeves of shirt long and dark. He wore heavy, dark boots while the collar of his vest almost completely covered his neck.

The slight fear still shook in his eyes. Fear, hesitance, and an overall self-consciousness radiated from him. Kiki knew she'd lost most of her appetite once she'd laid eyes on him, but felt that she had no right to say so.

"Yes. I'll have breakfast." Kiki forced her eyes to remain forward when she started toward the castle. As she walked past, he gave her wide berth. His uneven footsteps shuffled behind her as she made her way in through the back of the castle. His uneasiness made the skin on her back crawl.

The Forces chirped in greeting at the back of her head and in the air around her. Plates of food floated through the air and landed on either end of a long wooden table. The chandeliers above them tinkled pleasantly as breezes swept through the open windows of the dining room. Natural sunlight filtered in from the high windows and spun itself into the crystals in the dangling chandeliers, casting small rainbows all over the walls of the dining room.

Kiki couldn't focus on anything but keeping her small breakfast down. The Forces fretted and whispered hastily to her. They wanted her to eat more. Start talking. At least _make eye contact_ with the man across from her.

She stubbornly ignored them, and she could tell by the discomfort that wafted off of him that he was being told the same things. He shifted in his seat, then shifted again. From what Kiki could tell, he'd barely touched his food. If he was making an effort not to eat in front of her, she couldn't have cared less; she wasn't going to be able to keep any of her food down at the thought of having to feed oneself while missing a cheek, the teeth barely able to keep any liquids from spilling out.

The very thought made her nauseous.

Every few moments he would take a bite of bread, his face almost entirely buried in his now cold plate of food. He'd risk a look at her and quickly return his attention to his meal.

Every time he looked up, Kiki met his gaze with a cold glare.

The Forces swirled around them anxiously, displeased with the lack of interaction between the two. Glasses were constantly refilled, butter shifted to each end of the table as the Forces desperately tried their best to keep tensions from rising.

As if compelled by the negative feedback from the Forces, the man spoke up suddenly. The hesitance still present on him, he took a few seconds to formulate what it was he wanted to say. "Kiki."

She looked up, said nothing.

He chewed the words over in his head again and again, gently placing his fork on the table. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. His words almost failed him when he saw the look of impatience growing on her face.

"If…if you loved me…"

She went rigid, her fork stilled in the air just in front of her mouth, lips pressed firmly together.

"…would you marry me?"

The Forces were stunned into silence, their presence falling heavily on every inch of the pair.

Kiki's fork clattered loudly on the plate. Without a word, she roughly pushed her chair out and exited the dining room.


	2. Chapter 2

The Forces chastised the man for his behavior, their little whispers harsh as they scolded him for the kind of question he'd asked. They'd wanted him to ask questions, so he did.

As she walked past, her green skirt fluttering angrily about her legs, he couldn't help but wonder what part of him exactly had disturbed her so much. The door closed with a loud slam, the dining room falling silent as he sat by himself at the end of the table.

Without a word, he placed his fork by his plate and pushed his own chair out, the legs scraping against the wooden floors and most likely scratching off the polish. With uneven footsteps he slowly made his way to the door.

The Forces' attitude changed. The air near him grew softer, something warm and gentle rested on his shoulders, stopping his movements. The Forces were trying their best to comfort him now, whispering wordless things to him as they also attempted to bring Kiki back to breakfast.

"It's fine," he said. "She wasn't really hungry anyway." Opening the door, he caught a glimpse of Kiki just as she turned the corner.

Invisible hands pressed against his lower back, urging him to follow her. His feet stayed planted in the floor, however. He remembered the look of horror that had appeared on her face when she'd seen him, and the disgust that lived in the very air around her as she walked. The Forces still tried to encourage him forward. Their whispers in his head were supposed to be

The man relented, shuffling forward a few steps while he worked up the proper words to apologize to Kiki. The plush red carpets dulled the noise of his irregular walking but did nothing to calm the storm of nervousness that plagued his mind. The Forces wrapped around his hand, extending his reluctant arm and guiding him forward to her quarters. He already knew where they were; he walked past the double doors every night to make sure Kiki was okay.

The Forces' thoughts switched to confusion as they felt what was going through his head.

"Yes, I want to apologize," he said in response to the uneven pressures all over his body. "I didn't mean to…" He let his voice trail as he came upon the dark wooden doors. His uneven feet suddenly halted, stitching themselves to the thick carpet. Nervousness overtook his body, his fingers beginning to tremble slightly.

The Forces pushed against his chest, suggesting that he not do this now. They tried their best to discourage him and get him back to his quarters.

"I'm going to do this," he said, pushing forward with slight trepidation. His boots shuffled against the carpet until he was standing before the door. The man's right hand twitched into a fist, tapping lightly on the door once, then again. "Kiki?" He knew she could hear him.

Silence.

A lock turned with hesitance. Hinges creaked, a small crack slowly widening to reveal the deep scowl on Kiki's face. The door only revealed the form of her body, nothing of her chambers beyond. "What? What do you want?"

He noticed her eyes barely pass over his face and shift to the wood wall behind him. For some reason, that action wounded him more than it should have.

She felt something akin to a cuff to the back of her head, but ignored the reprimand from the Forces. Her scowl deepened still.

"I-I want to apologize." He couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye, afraid of the anger he knew would see burning there.

"For what? Trapping me in this castle?" Hatred was beginning to form under her voice. "Do you think an apology will get me my life back?"

He almost cringed. "I didn't—"

"Realize this: I don't want _anything_ to do with you." Her purple irises deepened to a darker shade. "It's your fault I'm here, and you couldn't even do so much as greet me on my first night."

The burning heat of her glare constricted his chest. "I…apologize for that…" Everything that had hand planned to say to her sank through his feet and tangled with the plush carpet.

The Forces grew agitated around them, pins and needles erupting at the ends of his fingers and running down his spine.

"And then the little _Jaxsiel_ of this place asks me to marry him." Kiki's face contorts with disgust. "Keep your apology; it's not going to help me."

The door slammed with a resounding finality, the long halls falling silent.

His first thoughts were those of doubt; maybe Kiki hadn't meant what she said. Perhaps she was upset because she was forced to live in the castle against her will. He didn't hold her anger against her, only wished that she would have let him apologize.

He stepped back from the doors, turning to head toward his own chambers. His footsteps were the only things to betray his emotions, shuffling against the carpet and weighted with a depression that made his shoulders sag.

The Forces swirled around him, settling gently on his shoulders and wrapping him in soft warmth.

"You don't have to worry about me," he said softly. Absently, his gloved hand rubbed the back of his left knee. He'd been standing for too long; pain was throbbing in the joint, hindering his movement. "I will let her have some space."

He gripped the door handle to his chambers, twisting the golden knob until it swung inward. His chamber ceilings were just as high as Kiki's, with large windows covered in dark curtains. Books lay scattered across the floor, a few hastily stacked in the corners where dusty cobwebs had begun to make their home. He limped to his massive bed with thin, worn sheets, sinking into the soft blankets and pillows.

Every word Kiki had said burned itself into his mind. Pain shooting up from his leg into his shoulder prevented him from spiraling into the depression that was about to take over his thoughts. Rolling over until his was at the edge of his bed, he picked up one of the books that was on the floor. The red word cover had no title, but the spine did. It was a book on species.

Frayed pages fluttered as he quickly flipped through the book, eventually coming upon what he was looking for. His hunch had been correct: Kiki was a Verocian, a species that was rarely seen outside their domain.

He eyed the haphazardly stacked pile of books that lay in the corner on the other side of his chambers, mentally chastising himself. The Forces sensed what he wanted, moving and shifting books until an old volume hovered in the air, a few thin cobwebs hanging from its corners.

He held his hand out until the heavy volume rested in his palm. Pain started to grip his leg muscles, stiffening them into an awkward curled position. He did his best to ignore it and flipped open the dusty cover. The book was a dictionary for the language Verocians spoke: Verinese.

As he scanned through the language book, he eventually came across the word he was looking for:

Jaxsiel-n-uncommon word for _prince_ ; a name whose translation is _prince—_ shortened: _Jax_

She called him a prince.

He almost felt a slight sense of…pride? Delight? It was a wholly positive feeling until he remembered how Kiki had spat the word out, a look of disdain on her face as she said it. He closed the book, haphazardly pushing it off the bed.

" _Jaxsiel_ …" He said to himself. He didn't quite get the intonation correct, but that wasn't what preoccupied his mind. A sudden spasm of pain stabbed his side, ripping air from his lungs as he curled into the fetal position.

The Forces wrapped around him, a warm blanket settling over his shaking body. An almost-hand gently rubbed his head, whispering things that held no meaning to him.

He sorely wished there was something they could do to ease the sharp pains that came in waves over his body, but the spirits could carry out no more tasks than massaging his aching muscles and wiping away any blood that appeared. He cried out as pain seared his stomach, his chest, his arm and his legs.

There was nothing to do; it happened regularly.

Forcing an edge of the blanket between his teeth, he bit down while pain writhed beneath his skin. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his hot skin, soaking the soft pillows beneath him.

"Tell…" His voice strained and hoarse, he croaked out a few words. "J-Just tell Kiki I…"—he gasped—"can't make it to dinner. I-I apologize."

The Forces hovered uncertainly, deciding amongst themselves what was best. They left quickly, their presence leaving traces of warmth in the air.

He lay as still as possible, trying to detach himself from his body in order to endure the pain. Claws ripped down his arm, and he couldn't hold in the scream that had been building up in his lungs. The ripe, metallic smell of blood flooded his nostrils, and he knew that his arm was bleeding.

In seconds the Forces reappeared, surrounding him with as much warmth as they could muster. The large windows flew open, cool air pouring in from the night outside. A cloth floated from the bedside table. His sleeve was removed as blood was gently wiped away.

Through the pain and agony, he hoped that Kiki would accept his apology, or at least not hold his inability to show up to dinner against him.

oOoOo

They'd said he wasn't able to attend dinner, and that he was sorry. No explanation, no reason as to why she was forced to eat alone in the expansive, fancy dining room.

No matter, she didn't care to have to look at him again. But even still, part of her was curious.

Kiki didn't go to investigate, however. He could be avoiding her like he had been for days before. Instead, she focused her attention on the meal before her, eating the food and only half tasting it.

The Forces were unusually silent, distracted, as they cleared some dishes and brought out others. An already empty wine bottle was placed on the table. Kiki jumped and almost choked on her food when a plate suddenly crash to the ground.

It was completely unlike them to make such mistakes. She was about to ask whether everything was alright, but decided against it. She finished her dinner and left the Forces to clean up.

As Kiki made her way to her chambers, the hairs on her neck stood on end, chills running their fingers slowly down her spine.

A yell, muffled by the thick walls of the corridors and bedrooms.

She continued to her chambers, faster this time, her own footsteps soft against the thick carpet. Her thoughts whirled within her mind: what had been that noise? What was happening to him?

Kiki stood outside her chamber doors, listening for any other sound. The quiet almost pulsated around her, pressing against her skin in waves.

Nothing.

Without a sound, she turned the handle of the door and entered the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is coming out a bit slower than I originally intended. I would love, however, your feedback on this (tips, anything that should be fixed, etc.).
> 
> ~AAx


	3. Chapter 3

Bright morning sunlight glinted happily off the damp stones of the path, creating a crystal-looking but slippery walkway.

Kiki sat, back hunched in front of a large bush heavy with pink flowers and the scent of sweet nectar. Her fingertips gently caressed the slightly curved surface of a petal, skin picking up dew drops and dispersing them through the air as she shook off her hand. Her fingers grasped the pencil in her that rested in her lap, scratched its black tip across the surface of off-white paper, more yellow in tone.

She'd found the small booklet resting on her bedside table, its brown leather cover warmed by early morning sunlight. The night before, Kiki had been too upset to see it, so she must have missed its small presence. When she first opened its cover, the first few pages had already been filled; small sketches of animals and plants took residence over the new pale yellow homes. After studying the booklet in mild interest for a few silent minutes, she noticed a pattern; there was a rough sketch, basic outline, and final drawing of each picture. They also each had their own page.

If this was to be a sort of apology for not showing up to dinner, she was not impressed.

Later in the morning, she sat on the pale grey stone bench well inside the gardens of the palace, as she normally did. After days of cold glares and annoyed groans in the man's direction, she had managed to mark her territories and where he was not allowed to set foot. The gardens were hers, and she would not have them tainted by the scarred man's presence. She was facing the wrong direction; her face was almost in the bush, her back to the path that wound throughout the grounds of the palace.

A soft groan of annoyance rumbled in Kiki's throat. She erased her sketch, redrew a few lines. "How long are you planning on standing there?"

Twenty minutes he'd been watching her, his gaze burning her back and messing up her concentration.

"I don't mean to be a bother, but…" His deep voice came out small and almost shy. "Would you like me to teach you how to draw?"

Kiki wasn't a perfect artist, but she was capable of most basic sketches. She spun the rough pencil between her fingers before spinning around to face him. He flinched, ducked his head and almost spoke into his shirt collar. "I noticed you took the sketch book, and that you were having some trouble." He snuck a peak at her. The man noted the slight scowl on Kiki's face but didn't cower back any more. "I…I drew those pictures on the first few pages." He'd assumed she would enjoy the small sketches, maybe even draw inspiration from them. He'd chosen to draw the small orange-and-brown birds that sipped nectar from the heavy flowers, and the small brown rodents that slept in the flowerbeds and ate the insects that pestered the bushes. The Forces had told him women tended to enjoy small, cute things, and seeing as he was incapable of drawing infants, he'd chosen animals.

Kiki just then noticed the worn, frayed, over-used book he heald in his hands. It was brown, like hers, but larger and filled with extra pages sticking out at odd angles. She chewed her lip in thought before shifting over. "Okay, fine. Teach me." She wouldn't bring up their silent yet broken pact to never invade each other's territory. She shifted over a few centimeters, folded the excess of her skirts under her legs. Kiki sat on the right side of the bench.

The man swallowed audibly before limping to the bench. His steps were noticeably labored and more awkward than the day before as he rested more weight on his right foot. When he settled onto the stone seat, he winced, rubbed his knee. His eyes met Kiki's for a split second, noted the barely-there concern, and cast his gaze quickly to the bush. "I'm fine."

"I didn't ask," she answered curtly. She held her pencil, poised and ready above her sketchbook.

The man turned his gaze to a specific flower on the dark green bush. "This is called the Pink Gypholin bush." He gently bent a large flower head toward himself, bare hand damp with a droplet of dew.

"Common more in the cool mountains of Vleshnar," Kiki spoke, looked at him to see if she was correct.

Surprise passed momentarily over his features. "Yes, that's correct."

"I was reading a book on botany that I found," Kiki said, eyeing her own book. She rolled the small pencil between her forefinger and thumb, unaccustomed to her sudden shyness.

"If you keep reading, you'll eventually learn the names of all the plants and flowers here, and their medicinal value," the man said, wiping his hand on his dark pants.

"What's this good for?" Kiki kept her eyes strictly on the bush before her. If she looked to her left she knew she would see the right side of his face, unscarred and normal. She didn't want to give any indication that she had forgiven him. The drawing lesson was simply to pass the time.

"Inducing stomach aches. Don't eat it." He opened his large sketch book, flipped through the thin yellow pages until he found an unmarked one. "You can draw whichever flower you see here." He motioned to the one in front of him. "Don't make the lines too dark—they should just be barely there." His pencil scratched lightly against the paper. He drew a small, oblong circle and five curved lines, one for each petal. Already, she could tell what direction it would be facing and what angle the flower would be in.

Kiki focused on her own paper, chose a flower head that was relatively easy to draw. They sketched on in silence for a few minutes before she looked to see how far he'd gotten. He was right handed, so she couldn't see much of his paper, but she could see enough to tell that he was much farther than her—and much more skilled.

He caught her gaze. "You don't have to work at the same pace as me; I've been doing this for much longer. Take your time," he said gently.

Kiki whipped her gaze back to her sketchbook. Her flower was not nearly as graceful or neat as his. She erased one petal, redrew it, and made sure to press the pencil lightly this time.

Her flower was still awkward, hanging almost limply on its too-thick stem.

She swallowed her annoyed noise, erased half the flower and redrew it again. Still wrong. Kiki was about to scrap the whole thing and start over when she noticed him shift beside her, standing with a soft grunt. On instinct, she stiffened, pencil stilled above the book.

He stood, rubbed his knee in small circles. "Try not to concentrate on how one petal is going to look…" Boots stepped heavily on the stone path behind her, a shadow blocking half the bright sunlight.

Then he was close to her. His chest pressed to Kiki's back—so close, she could almost feel his heart beat thrumming through her shoulder blades, through her ribs as if within her own chest—as his right hand closed lightly around hers. "They need to arch more, like this…" His large, soft hand guided hers across the paper, created the smooth, wide tip of first one petal, then another. She didn't protest, let him guide her limp arm over the page. "The petal closest will appear larger, and have a different angle from the ones in the back."

They were in an awkward in embrace, it seemed, in the middle of the gardens. His gloved left hand rested on Kiki's left shoulder, his body curved around hers and radiating subtle heat. When he spoke, warm puffs of air brushed against her freckled cheek, whether from his mouth or nose or cheek-less left face, Kiki wasn't sure; she couldn't concentrate. Her skin flooded with warmth, small pinpricks of electricity causing the hairs on her arms to stand on end.

The man's voice faded into the air as her own heart beat picked up speed and intensity. If Kiki were to lean slightly to her right, her face would be touching his. The Gypholin flower presented itself on its yellow background, perfectly shaped and lively, exactly like the one before her.

He was suddenly standing, limping back to his seat on the bench and hastily grabbing his pencil before it fell off. He cleared his throat, pursed his lips slightly before speaking again. "With practice, you'll get better," he said, voice small and timid.

Cool breezes blew through the gardens, lightly bent the flowers on their stems. Kiki shivered, fought off the urge to rub her arms. The sun's rays were too brilliant, highlighting mark on every object in excruciating detail. She took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. Kiki heard him take the same breath, saw him rub his bare hand over his face. She made the mistake of looking at him.

Their eyes locked. She studied the different tones of gold and brown in his right eye, the way his pupil dilated despite the sun shining in his eyes. His face was just as pink as hers. He broke his gaze, ducking his head awkwardly and hunching his shoulders. His ears were pink, as well—as pink as the flowers on the bush. "Y-You can try to draw another flower, if you like."

Kiki brushed her dark hair away from her face. "Alright," she said quietly, picking up the pencil that had dropped to the ground. She didn't know what she would do if she were to look into his eyes again—probably something she would regret.

An increasing sense of discomfort seeped through his dark clothing, made her skin itchy. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, breathing forcefully through his nose. "Kiki…" he said.

Hearing his deep voice say her name unexpectedly made her jump. "Yes?"

He shifted, ran a hand over his bald head. "I didn't mean—"

Chimes, deep and low, echoed through the gardens. The back door to the kitchen swung open with unnecessary force, scents of cooked meat and a thin trail of smoke drifting lazily through the air.

"Lunch already," he said with a mix of relief and slight displeasure. "I…guess we don't want to keep the Forces waiting, then…" He stood, rubbed his side, and limped down the stone path toward the back door.

Kiki sat in confused silence for a moment, forced her swell of emotions down into her stomach. They sat heavily there. After a pause, she stood and followed him, her dark green skirts swishing around her legs.

OoOoO

Lunch held and undesired awkwardness that threatened to make Kiki lose her appetite. Barely able to focus on the slightly burnt food, images lapsed over themselves and each other in her mind. She thought about those few minutes where they had been drawing together, and the subsequent intimate moment in which he had taught her to draw a flower. Already, her face heated up again. Kiki heard his swear, a glass of wine rolling across the deep brown table and spilling its contents everywhere. The Forces picked it up, a rag hovering in the air above the spill.

"Sorry about that…" he muttered to no one.

She only stared directly in front of herself, at the empty chair that sat quietly in her line of sight. If she were to look up and to her left, he would be there, on the other side of the table. Mentally, she drew a diagonal line from her plate to his that would slice the table in two.

Why the Forces had set up their plates so oddly was beyond her. Kiki had a clear few of the man's left side, the discolored scars taking up the once-even skin on his head, the teeth that were white and terrifying. She forced a deep breath, swallowed all the wine in her crystal goblet. He was obviously chewing very slowly, ignoring his glass of wine.

A bottle of liquor immediately floated across the table, tipping itself until deep red liquid filled the cup. The Forces pressed against the back of her head, urged her to try and "make nice" with him.

Kiki flicked her eyes up to the man at the same time he looked at her. Before she could say anything, he ducked his head again. His shyness was baffling.

"Why weren't you at dinner yesterday?" she blurted. Her fork hovered in the air above her plate, a chunk of over-cooked steak quickly cooling. The simmering annoyance singed her awkwardness.

The man stilled in his movements, pursed his lips and looked at his plate as if he were consulting it. "I had…something important to attend to," he spoke softly.

"Something important?" Kiki said with slight disdain. She didn't believe him. "And what was that?"

He looked uncomfortable, his tan skin pale under her scrutinizing gaze. "S-Something personal…"he muttered. "It-It doesn't matter. I don't want to bother you with it." A hand ran over his bald head, slowly dropped into his lap. The scarred side of his face scrunched up a bit.

Guilt as small as a pebble settled into her stomach. She ignored it, focused more on her annoyances about the man. "I figured that since we've been living under the same roof for a while now, you would at least have to tell me _something_ about your whereabouts." The Forces pinched the back of her head to get her to stop, but she ignored their tiny fury.

The man stiffened as if he'd been slapped. "I haven't been outside the wall." It was not indignation or anger at her accusation that made his voice tremor, more…fear, and a heavy sadness that could have made the table creek. "I am sorry that I was not here for dinner yesterday," he said softly, looking Kiki in the eye. His sincerity twisted her lungs.

The man's deep gaze unnerved her, made her skin crawl with tiny pinpricks. An apology lodged in her throat.

Before she had a chance to say anything, he'd turned his gaze back to his plate, finally sipping his wine. He was forced to tip his head slightly to the right as he drank it.

Too many emotions sank into the veins of her chest. Confusion and confliction ran in mad circles through her mind, tore through her thoughts without a second's glance. Her imprisonment in the palace had been nothing but maddening. Kiki's thought turned to the seamless white walls that surrounded the ground, with their black wrought iron fences above them. She didn't want to constant, suffocating silence between meals, or the avoided eye contact between her and the man.

She wanted her old life, her familiar life, the one she'd been thrown out of as punishment for something she did not do.

The next day, Kiki would try to escape the palace.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After attempting to escape, Kiki discovers a secret of the mysterious man's, although it is worse than she could have thought.

The air was eerily still, more clouds than usual hanging in the air. The gardens weren't as bright as they normally were; a storm would be coming soon.

The wall stood tall before her, sparkling white and imposing.

It had taken Kiki weeks to build up the courage to escape. Since her first drawing lesson with him, he'd been more open to her, albeit still shy. He would occasionally visit her in the gardens, hold short conversations with her about the random thunderstorms or another burnt meal the Forces prepared (which was beginning to become more and more frequent), sometimes even sit in silence with her. Every time she answered his question or responded to his statement, his eyes would light up with almost boyish delight for the barest of seconds. Her guilt at planning an escape clawed at her stomach.

For the first time in weeks, he was preoccupied, remaining in his chambers instead of coming to breakfast. The Forces gave no clue as to what was keeping the man, and Kiki was glad for that; she didn't have an excuse not to examine the wall.

It sparkled, but it was probably just the type of stone that was used. The black mini-fence that stood above it was a harsh contrast to the clean whiteness of the wall. She remembered being thrown over that black wrought-iron fencing, landing heavily on her shoulder the first night she was imprisoned at the palace. Her stomach twisted itself into knots at the thought of the horrible events before then. She knocked them from her mind, instead remembered her friends' faces and all the smiles they would give her when they saw her again.

Experimentally, Kiki pressed a hand against its surface, feeling along the smooth stone for any kind of foothold she had missed—there was barely a seam. Standing still in thought, she didn't notice the sudden stinging in her hand until she felt something wet drip down her wrist. Kiki yelped, leapt back from the wall with a cry that rang throughout the whole garden. She gripped her hand in her palm, staring in horror at the bright red streaks of blood across the wall's white surface. The blinding pain made her dizzy, tipped the world around her until she wanted to vomit. With terrified caution, she looked at her hand.

Harsh red streaks criss-crossed the once smooth skin on her hand. Blood pooled and leaked heavily from the cuts, staining the sleeve of her dress and dripping into crimson pools on the pale grey pathway. Between the cuts, the flesh curled as if it had been burned. Kiki fought back tears of frustration, but couldn't quite figure out why she was crying. Was it in pain? Was it terrible homesickness?

By that point, the reason didn't matter; she was angry, enraged that her previous life had been ripped from her and that she might never be able to get it back, furious that she might have to live out the rest of her days with a stranger. Kiki took out her anger on the wall, pounded it with the sides of her fists until the blood poured out like waterfalls down the smooth white stone.

She screamed, more in hopelessness than pain. "Let me out!" she shouted, clawing at the unforgiving stone. Pain ran like fire up her arms, but she ignored it, continued to pound and beat the wall with her fists despite the fact that she knew it was futile. The once white wall was slick with dark blood, hand prints smeared across its even surface and sporting the tears of a desperate woman.

Kiki would have continued to attack until she had no hands to attack with. The metallic smell of blood nauseated her to her core, made her knees weak as she fought off the urge to vomit. Her arms had long since gone numb, throat raw from the screaming she'd done for the past hour. Still, her movements didn't slow until she was sure she would die from pain.

Kiki was too numb to feel anything but agony. So numb that she didn't hear the heavy boot steps pounding down the stone pathway, didn't feel the gloved hands grab her arms until a deep voice was yelling in her ear.

"Kiki! Kiki, you need to stop!" She'd never heard the man yell before and never expected to hear the depth of fear that made his voice shake. The frantic tone of his words knocked her out of her crazed abuse on the wall.

Kiki violently wrenched herself out of his grip, hard enough to slam herself into the solid blood-red wall in front of her, hard enough for her to hit her forehead against the stone, smell the blood that still dripped over its surface.

With stars swimming in her vision, she spun on reflex, whipped her hand out, and slashed the man across his face.

It was his yell of agony that ripped her from her violent rampage, forced her to realize what she'd done to herself and a person who'd shown her nothing but kindness.

The man clutched a hand to the left side of his face, most of the scarred skin hidden under his hand. He was frozen to the ground, almost curling up on the stone pathway.

Kiki expected him to lash out, yell that she was crazy, or why had she done that? She didn't think she would have been able to answer if he did, but anything was better than the horrible, suffocating silence that came from him.

He stared in shock. There was no anger, no fear or disgust, just a surprise that seemed endless and confused as she was. He spoke, broke that silence and temporarily erased the shock from his eyes, replaced it with concern that filled her with dread. "Your hands…Kiki…"

She was suddenly brought back to the pain that radiated from her fingers. "I…" She gasped, swallowed around the lump that threatened to choke her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I—"

"If you keep bleeding like that, you're going to faint." With great difficulty, the man stood, rubbing his knee, and then his back. Urgency took over his limbs as he grabbed Kiki by her elbows. "Keep your hands up and come with me."

The back door to the palace had already flown open, and stood that way as the pair made their slow progress through the gardens and inside. Kiki's hands blazed in pain despite the numbness that had shaken her to her core. Jax was saying something, raising his voice to get her to move faster. Their feet hit carpet, small bowls and rags floating in the air behind them. The man's voice lowered, less frantic and scared and more soothing.

"Kiki, you're going to be fine now." His hand clutched the handle to his chambers, twisted its golden handle and pushed the door open.

Up until then, Kiki hadn't said a thing as her mind tried to figure out what had happened. She was light-headed and confused, almost completely sure that the blood on her hands and dress wasn't hers.

A layer of dust covered items on all four walls of his chambers, faded, tattered curtains hanging from the wide-open windows. His bed was to the left, the sheets strewn about haphazardly and half on the floor. Books were piled into every space and crevice available, a writing desk in one corner almost swallowed by the sheer amount of hard cover books it was surrounded by.

His room was a mess.

The man noticed that Kiki didn't speak at all, not when he made her sit down on a chair and not when he took her hand into his lap, dabbing at the blood that soaked her skin. The Forces cleaned up her left hand, placed a basin of warm water in the man's lap and extra towels and gauze on a small bedside table that had been dragged over. He plucked a small, dark brown bottle of clear liquid off the table, quickly removing its cap and adding a few drops to the water. "This is going to numb your hands a bit." Gently lifting Kiki's hand in his own, he placed it in the water.

Kiki yelped, almost leaped out of her seat. The sudden sting roughly knocked her from her stupor. She nearly pulled her hand away when the man told her to sit still. Looking about her, she realized where they were. "These are your chambers." Her voice held a strange note to it.

The man hoped she wouldn't see the color that had risen to his face. "Yes. It's closest to the kitchen, and I had to get your hands fixed as quickly as possible." He kept his eyes strictly on the task before him, dabbing at Kiki's hands with a damp cloth until he could clearly see the scratches and burns that marred his skin. "How does it feel now?"

"Numb, but slightly tingly," she answered quietly.

The man didn't reply after that, too afraid to look her in the eyes. While he rubbed slave into her skin, the Forces tried to tend to the scratches on his face. He flinched, pulled his head away as a cloth partially blocked his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Kiki suddenly whispered.

His head whipped up, confusion crossing through his mismatched eyes. "For what?"

"I hit you. You were only trying to help me and—" She cut herself off at the look he gave her.

"Why did you do it?" he asked softly. His movements stilled as he focused on Kiki's words.

Horrible, cold guilt hit her hard and firmly in her gut. "I…I didn't mean to do it—"

The man shook his head. "No, I mean why did you attack the wall? Even after it burned you and destroyed your skin…why?"

Kiki looked at her hand still in his lap, at the burns and cuts that laced her skin. "I don't want to live here." She stared out the window, eyes tracing the clouds that hovered within her view. "I was forced out of my old life and into this one; I want to go home."

The man stared at his lap, desperately hoping his hurt didn't show. For so long, he'd wished to touch her hands, feel the smooth skin with his own fingers and have her accept the uglier parts of him. His teaching her to draw was—what he thought—a way to get closer to her. When Kiki didn't flinch, he'd thought that maybe they would be closer afterwards, not farther apart.

And now she'd said it: she didn't want his company anymore, didn't want to see his face or hear his voice, let alone touch him or live with him. An overwhelming sense of defeat threatened to collapse his lungs as he softly stroked Kiki's hand. Somewhere in his conscious, he noted that the Forces had stilled their movements.

The man swallowed, forced himself to take a breath. He didn't even realize that Kiki had started speaking again. While she spoke, he pushed back her bloodied sleeve, examined her pale blue skin underneath; a few scratches had made their way onto her wrists. Dried blood caught in the thin hairs on her forearm. With hesitance, he ran his hand slowly over her arm, from her shoulder down to the exposed skin at her wrist. Impossibly soft. She didn't flinch.

"I had friends in my old life." Kiki spoke of it as some far away thing, as if it were something that she would never be able to get back. "Enemies too, but there were still people that cared about me…" Her voice cracked.

The man forced his pain away into a small corner of his mind. He would never be able to force her to live with him; he was simply not cruel enough or selfish enough to do something like that. If she noticed his grip tighten on her fingers, she didn't say anything. He watched her eyes glisten, watched the tear slip down her face.

Just as the tears slipped over a freckle, he reached his bare hand out, pressed a thumb against the drop of salty water. The rest of his fingers went to cup her cheek. She gasped softly at the same time he did. Kiki swallowed, tried to hold back the other tears brimming in her eyes.

He held his breath, let his fingers soak in the tender warmth of Kiki's skin. It was smoother than he'd imagined, softer than he'd ever thought skin could be. He had the sudden urge to kiss her cheek, thought that maybe, if he showed her something considered an act of love, she'd cheer up, feel less desolate and get back the light that was once in her eyes—it certainly wasn't the first time he'd thought about it.

"Don't cry," he whispered instead, pressed his hand more firmly into her face. Kiki made the smallest of whimpers, turned her face into his palm. The man's skin was smooth and soft—impossibly so, like an infant's skin. She imagined it was just as pale, as well. "Please, don't cry," he whispered again, stroking her face.

Kiki's eyes fell to his left hand and the rough thumb that gently stroked her knuckles, no longer rubbing healing salve into them. She eyed the scarred hand attached to the thumb with dry, uneven skin disappearing underneath his dark sleeve. How could he have hands that were so different? She pushed the question to the back of her mind, focused on fighting off the temptation to kiss the palm of his soft hand.

His hand ran small circles over her cheek, fingers reaching to stroke her ear. The Forces had completely stilled around them. Kiki closed her eyes, a few tears still falling but seemingly calmed down. His eyes studied every curve and dip of her face, committed the blue of her skin and blush on her cheeks to memory, noted her dark lashes and freckles. His gaze fell to her lips, full and dark pink with the gentlest of curves. They must have looked beautiful when she smiled. The man folded his own torn lips in, bit down on his bottom lip hard. Could she feel how destroyed his left hand was? Did she always refuse to look at him because she was upset, or because he looked like a monster? Was she disgusted by him?

His eyes fell again to her lips. Heat washed over his body, set his fingers to trembling. He licked his lips, contemplated what he was about to do. With hesitant movements, he pressed his fingertips into the back of her head, letting her dark hair run over his hand. His hand tightened its grip around Kiki's own, her wounds momentarily forgotten.

Kiki gasped, whether as a result of the tears or his touches, the man didn't know. There were no other reactions besides that.

He fully cupped the base of his head, gently stroking her scalp with his nails. The man applied pressure, nudging her head forward. He stared at her lips again, leaned forward until he was barely a breath away from her.

Kiki's eyes opened, and the look she gave him made him freeze. There was a war of emotions swimming in her purple irises, her entire facial expression unreadable.

Slowly, very carefully, she freed her hand from his, her bloodied sleeve dragging across her dress. She turned her head away, aimed her gaze at the wall behind him. Kiki's hand closed around his on her neck, pulled it away and rested it on her lap. He didn't miss the way her lips almost pursed.

The man forced down his swelling pain. He sat back in his chair, twisted his lips. "I…I am sorry for—" His voice was husky and rough. Shame burned his skin and made his stomach curl.

"Don't. Don't apologize," Kiki said, looking him in the eye. She wasn't crying anymore, but her eyes and cheeks were still red. She sniffed, hiccupped, unconsciously squeezed his hand.

The man forced his gaze to the floor, nearly sagged in his chair. He couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like kissing Kiki, to share that form of intimacy with her. The only time they'd ever touched was when he'd held her while they drew. He had always wanted to feel something softer than the flower petals in the garden, from the day he first laid eyes on her. Up until the garden incident he'd been too afraid to talk to Kiki. Self-doubt manifested itself within his mind. She most likely would have recoiled at the touch of his uneven, rough lips, or curled away in disgust at the very thought of being close to him.

The man swallowed. "W-Would you still like me to bandage your hand?" He kept his gaze solely on her torn fingers, no longer bleeding.

"Yes, please," Kiki said. She watched as he picked up a roll of gauze, wrapping it between and over her fingers. The Forces did the same on her left hand.

When he was finished, he pushed his chair away, hastily gathering up supplies. "Try not to use your hands too much—" He suddenly froze, one arm flying to grip his stomach.

Kiki stood. "Are you alright?" Her concerned gaze bore into him.

The man took a breath before answering. "I'm fine," he said, voice strained. "Just…be careful how you use your hands for the next few days. If…If you need anything, the Forces should be able to help." He failed to hide his discomfort as he limped heavily to his bed, placing the used cloths and basins on the bedside table.

Kiki didn't feel comfortable leaving him alone when there was obviously something seriously wrong, her conscious practically tugging at her sleeve to get her to stay.

The clock chimed twelve times. It was noon, about time for lunch. "You haven't eaten yet, have you?" the man asked, looking at her. "The Forces might be able to make something." It was the most polite way he could think of to get Kiki away from him as quickly as possible.

"I'll bring something back for you," Kiki answered, turning and leaving his chambers. She stole one last glance back at the room covered with books without shelves, at the dust that gathered in the corners and the tattered curtains that fluttered from the windows.

The man didn't answer.

OoOoOoO

Wind clashed against the thick glass windows of Kiki's chambers, throwing its onslaught of rain and lighting against the solid palace. Lightning flashed, lit up the room briefly before receding.

The Forces were completely absent. Kiki couldn't sense them in her room or in the nearby halls. Thunder boomed again, and she sat up in her bed with a jolt. Throwing on her slippers, she crept out of the room with a lamp in hand. Figuring she wouldn't be getting any sleep anyway, she decided to explore the palace.

Not three feet from her door, someone screamed, their cry ringing in the very walls of the hall way. Kiki froze, pressed herself against the wall. Her bandaged hands shook as she held the lamp higher in the air, casting its yellow light around.

Dead silence.

She didn't so much as breathe when she took two more steps away from her door. Where were the Forces?

Another scream, this one much more muffled but recognizable.

Without a second thought, Kiki took off down the hall, occasionally stopping and listening for more screams. She ended up outside the man's chambers. Placing the lamp on the ground, she banged the side of her fist against the heavy wooden door. "Are you alright?" she called through the thick wood. Inside, she felt the Forces swirling around the man, all of them comforting and shushing as best they could. "Open the door!" She pounded on it again.

The Forces heard her—that she knew—but they continued to ignore her cries.

Very well then. Kiki was more than capable of opening it herself. She stepped back a few feet, placing her palms out in front of her. She felt the same power the Forces thrived on pulse through her veins. She closed her eyes, concentrating her power on the solid wood before her. With a loud bang, the door swung inward. She picked up the lamp again, stepping into the chilly room.

The man writhed on his bed, biting forcefully into his pillow. Curled on his right side, the light from the lamp hit his shining forehead. He moaned, turned his face in to the pillow.

Kiki gasped, one bandaged palm covering her mouth. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" Within two strides she was by the side of his bed, climbing on to cup his damp face.

The man clamped his eyes shut, struggled to turn his head away from her. His half-lips moved, but formed no words.

Concern twisted in Kiki's gut as her species' natural maternal instinct took over. Before he could try to roll away from her, she was on top of him, one knee on either side of his body. She pressed her hands into his shoulders to prevent further movement.

The man's chest heaved, hot air coming in quick puffs through his mouth. He cried out again, twisted under Kiki's body weight.

She forced herself to remain calm. "Where are you hurting the most?" The palm of her right hand grew wet, dread taking over her stomach. Blood bloomed over multiple spots on his white night shirt, the largest over his heart.

The man bit out his words. "Kiki, don't—!"

Having already given up on fumbling with the buttons, Kiki ripped open the front of his shirt—and screamed.

The entire left side of his chest was taken over with writhing, curling scars—literally. They twisted over and under each other, spread out and grew thinner, split open flesh and leaked blood and quickly healed again. The bed sheets below him were thoroughly soaked with blood. They moved as if they had life, fighting for space on his left arm and shoulder.

"Kiki…" the man moaned, freeing one of his arms from her grasp. "D-Don't wor—"

She pulled off the rest of his shirt, pressed her gauze-wrapped hands against a bleeding wound on his arm and ordered the Forces to help her. "I need warm water! Why didn't any of you do anything? Where's that salve that he used on my hands?"

Items swirled in the air around the pair as Kiki dabbed at bloody spots that disappeared just as quickly as they appeared. She wrapped gauze around his arms and shoulders, wiped a cool cloth against his forehead as sweat beaded on his tan skin.

He continued to moan, but after a few hours he was semi-still, only occasionally twitching. Kiki held his head against her chest, lightly stroking his cheek. Part of her knew that this was not the first time he'd gone through this.

The thunderstorm outside had softened to a drizzle, but lightning still flashed in the windows. The man opened his eyes, almost protested to being held by Kiki. It still hurt to breathe, but not as much as it had before. He let his body relax as much as he could, eventually falling asleep.

OoOoO

Pale post-storm morning light filtered in through the tattered curtains. Cool air flowed in through the windows.

The man woke up, groggy and confused at first. He shivered, felt cold air shift over his bare legs and back. Where were his clothes? He groaned, shifted against the arms that were wrapped around him. His head was in Kiki's lap, and she was draped uncomfortably against the head board. He didn't move, barely containing the fast flutter of his heart. His right cheek pressed into her thighs, his face almost completely buried in her stomach.

The man decided it best not to disturb her just yet, instead soaking in as much of the warmth emanating off Kiki as possible. He let himself relax for the barest of seconds—unfortunately, the Forces had a different plan in mind.

Kiki shifted from somewhere above him, exhaling as she opened her eyes. They both yelped when they realized just how close they were. The man scrambled away, trying to cover as much of himself as possible. He was only in his mid-thigh length underwear, goose bumps and bandaging covering most of his skin.

Kiki turned her head away, flames rising to her cheeks. Her gut tingled at the thought of a male being so close to her. She covered her face with her hands, turning her eyes toward the wall by the door. The Forces giggled, tiny shivers up and down her arms.

Behind her, the man was equally as red, stammering out nonsense as he desperately tried to find his pants. He spun around to search the bed just as Kiki turned to usher out an apology. They froze at the site of Kiki's once-white nightgown, now covered in blood-red stains.

Kiki self-consciously picked at the spots, her earlier embarrassment forgotten. "How are you feeling?" she asked quietly, avoiding eye contact.

"Better…thank you, Kiki," he answered, gaze shifting to the bed. He quickly snatched up his pants. How much pain had he been in not to realize he was almost naked?

Kiki muttered something in response, standing to go back to her chambers. As she stalled by the door, she caught a glimpse of the man's bandaged back, gauze criss-crossing the surface of his skin. Besides the ribs that poked through on his left side, he was much more… _muscular_ , than she'd originally thought. The tightly-wound bandages only highlighted the muscles on his arms and showed off his broad shoulders.

She rushed out of the man's chambers before she could squeak, her feet shuffling against the thick carpet.

He watched her rush out the door, absently rubbing his left arm. She hadn't recoiled at the sight of him—if anything, Kiki had only been driven to get closer to him and help him more. Maybe they could become acquaintances after this?

He blushed at his silliness, shook his head. The Forces snickered in his ears at the terribly awkward moment he had gone through with Kiki. Rubbing his knee absently, the man thought about the pleasant dream he'd had after the agonizing pain had subsided, when Kiki stroked his head while he slept. He ran a hand over his bald head, and the Forces erupted into laughter—of course, all he felt of it was warm air pushing against his arms. He ignored their teasing, musing over the fact that she'd cared about him enough to touch his face and not recoil at the sight of him. He rubbed his rough hand over his smooth one, remembered the feel of it against Kiki's face just the day before.

For a moment, he entertained the idea that they could become more than whatever awkward pairing they currently were. His heart fluttered at the thought.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a full moon, and it cast its pale glow upon the deep red carpet below the window. Golden candles flickered in their crystal holders, spread yellow light across the dark, smooth brown wood of the dining table. Several platters took residence upon the center of the table, warm steam curling gracefully into the air before dissipating.

The pair was several seats closer now, nearly in line with each other on each long end of the table. The man kept his head bent as usual, although he sat a bit more upright. His fork scraped lightly against the plate.

The forces drifted lazily but happily around them, their contentedness settling softly on Kiki's shoulders as she ate. For once in a long time, the meal wasn't overcooked.

"I—I helped with dinner," he said suddenly, his head still bent towards the plate. After Kiki's attempt at escape and the man's pain literally ripping him apart later that night, he'd reverted back into his deep shell. This little admission of helping to cook a meal seemed like an odd way to come out, if only for a second.

"Oh," Kiki said, for lack of better words. The soup had been a little salty, but other than that she didn't think the meal tasted any different. She considered her words carefully. "It tastes very nice…" Kiki trailed. The man's lacking in a name sometimes made for awkward, stilted conversation.

He seemed both proud and ashamed. He ducked his head, chin close to his chest, and muttered "thank you" before turning his eyes to his plate of food again, face coloring a slight pink. When he heard Kiki's utensils scraping against the plate again, he carefully raised his eyes toward her. She didn't look at him, too focused on poking her steak to make any more conversation. Her deep black hair was falling out of its bun, partly covering her face. Her dress was dark pink and flowing, the sleeves reaching her elbows, and the neckline went low to her—

The man stabbed a chunk of meat with unnecessary force, surprising himself, Kiki, and the Forces.

"Are you alright?" she asked, looking up from her meal.

He was silent, too embarrassed to form words. Mutely, he nodded, turned his attention back to his meal. The dinners were always in some way tense, but the man had never intended to make them even more awkward.

Kiki's brow furrowed. She didn't look convinced, but nonetheless took his word for it.

OoOoO

She spun. The floors creaked under her weight—almost groaned in protest—but she ignored it. She watched her reflection in the mirrors, saw herself turning and her dress spreading out about her, high enough to reach her thighs. Her arms extended to either side, one resting on an imaginary shoulder and the other grasping an invisible hand. She danced now, clumsily. She had no partner, but she made one up. She put her cousin before her, filled the air with his height and weight and deep voice. She imagined his smile and childish jokes, with his pale blonde hair and light bouncing in his bright green eyes.

Although her stomach turned with sadness, made her sag a bit with homesickness, she continued to dance, stepping over the floorboards and watching herself through the mirrors that lined two of the walls. The room could have been a small dance floor, maybe an old storage room. The wooden floors were dry and splintering, old yellow wallpaper peeling and curling.

She tripped, spun and landed on her rear with a heavy _thud_. She didn't laugh, but she was close, her lips spreading into a wide smile across her face. She stood up again, repositioned her body to dance with her invisible partner.

She didn't hear the creak of the door, didn't see the man as he stood silently and watched her.

She continued to spin, head titled back as a tiny laugh echoed to the high ceilings. That laugh turned into a yelp as she caught sight of the man and one foot twisted over the other. The world tilted drastically and she landed hard on her back.

Boot steps pounded heavily across the wooden floor, a concerned, half-twisted face appearing in her field of vision. "Kiki! Are you alright?" His hands reached out to her.

"I'm fine." She sat up, sour scowl back in place and any trace of laughter burned. Kiki stood to discourage any more movement from him. Her face heated with embarrassment.

"Oh…" _Oh?_ The man was at a loss for words. He'd come to the storage room in search of Kiki; she'd left the dining room rather quickly, and he needed to ask her something.

Again, she refused to look at him, hands in fists by her sides and fiery glare aimed at the floor, thankfully. He squirmed in his own spot, the awkwardness prickling at his armpits. He was about to speak up—or leave.

"Can you dance?" Kiki blurted.

The man was stunned enough to take a step back. "Dance?" His confusion showed, present and raw on his face. Almost as quickly he turned his face to the splintered floor boards. "A-A little bit," he stammered. "I've never had a partner…"

Kiki pursed her lips at what she was about to do. "Would…would you like to dance with me?"

The man's expression changed to that of a mixture of things, but his look of confusion was stronger, as was the slightly troubled undertone. He shuffled a step back, shoulders crowded around his ears and hands wringing nervously.

Kiki didn't know why the thought of being rejected by him stung her—she didn't care for him, of course. "You don't have to if you don't want to," she rushed out, her cheeks beginning to burn.

"I…I would like to dance with you, if that's alright." The man finally looked up at her. "I just don't think I'm that good."

Kiki managed a small breath before stepping closer. "I, uh, might be able to teach you." She had a bit of knowledge, maybe enough to pass on.

"Will you?" The man desperately wished his hope didn't show so plainly on his face. Maybe, if she was willing to touch him, Kiki was warming up to him? He remembered all the times she'd tried to distance herself from him. In his line of thinking, Kiki wanted to be friends.

She didn't say anything. She held out her hands for him to take, one poised in the air and the other by his shoulder.

The man followed the silent prompts as best as he could, grasped her still-bandaged fingers in his own and let her rest her hand on his left shoulder. He didn't know what to do with this other hand.

"Put your hand on my waist," she instructed. Her lips began to purse in the way they did when she was uncomfortable or displeased with something.

So, she didn't want to become friends.

The man hid his dejection and focused on what was before him. His left hand began twitching; he flexed it and shakily rested his palm on the curve of her waist. They were much closer now, almost chest-to-chest.

"Take a step with your right foot," Kiki said. She didn't looked directly at him, instead stared at the faint, pink scratches on his cheek from when she'd lashed out at him. She didn't think she had cut that deeply with her nails.

The man hesitantly stepped backward with his right foot. His hand gripped Kiki's more tightly as he shifted his weight. Beneath him, the splintered floorboards croaked and groaned under his feet.

"Okay, good…" She still didn't look at him, focus now aimed at where he was placing his feet. "It's simple; just follow my lead—and don't step on my feet."

The man pursed his lips, momentarily questioned Kiki's teaching abilities. But, nonetheless, he followed her direction. After time, the number of times he stepped on her foot lessened, and she either didn't notice his limp or didn't comment on it.

The man swallowed, kept his eyes away from hers for the duration of their dance. It was odd, dancing with a woman who supposedly hated him, moving to their own music even while the old floorboards creaked beneath their feet.

Part of him—a small part, but a part nonetheless—hoped they'd be able to do this often.

Whether it was due to Kiki's fatigue or the man's limp getting progressively worse, their dance slowed. They spun in less circles, took smaller steps across the floor. Hesitantly, carefully, Kiki shifted her right hand to his shoulder. She didn't look at him while she did it.

With the same level of hesitation, he rested his own palm on her waist. The two were considerably closer now. The man's chest began to slowly bloom in warmth, from his heart outward to his fingertips.

"Kiki…"

The deep roughness of his voice startled her. She was almost afraid to respond. "Yes?" she answered, looking him in the eye for the first time.

The man's golden eyes crackled as they bore into hers. He didn't speak, instead tightened his grip on her waist. His arms slowly circled around the small of her back, pulled her closer until the tips of their noses were almost touching.

Kiki could feel the heat from his breath on her cheeks—or was it her own body heat? Her fingers had set to trembling, and she noticed that they had stopped moving.

The man's heartbeat sped up to light barely-felt flutter in his chest as he met eyes with Kiki. Her irises spun in deep shades of violet, the edges rimmed with small, diamond-shaped flecks of ruby and shining gold. He trailed the curves of her cheeks, committed every freckle and dimple to memory. The man's eyes fell to her lips.

Kiki felt his grip on her tighten, saw him move closer until they were barely a breath apart.

The man felt a part of him begin to unravel. Would a kiss make Kiki more comfortable around him, make her accept him more? He didn't want a possibility where the question could be answered in the negative, where she'd revert to hating him and he'd have no companion but the Forces with him.

Their noses touched, and that was when Kiki turned her head away. She pressed her thumb against his lips, felt how rough they were and felt his breath on his skin.

The man felt the unraveled part of him suddenly retract, felt it shrink and shrivel until it was nothing more than a ghost of a feeling. He tried not to let sadness wash over him and show in his expressions, but he failed.

She didn't accept him. She likely never would.

The constricted feeling spread to his chest, robbed him of breath and made him feel cold and small on the inside. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it again. He still held Kiki close to him, as if keeping her nearby would ultimately change her mind.

She spoke first. "I…I'm sorry. I can't…" His lack of a name once again made her words stilted. "I don't feel that way for you."

The man looked away from her, took a slight step back. His pursed his half-lips subconsciously, folded them inward as best he could. _She hates me now_ were his thoughts as every scar and abnormality on his face made its presence known to him. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

Kiki took a small step back, then another, until the man kept his hands on her elbows. She still refused to look at him.

"Kiki…" His voice was barely above a whisper. He didn't try to make eye contact with her, instead aiming his eyes at her shoulder. "If…if you loved me…" His voice faltered, then trailed off.

It was Kiki who swallowed this time. He stomach squirmed as she fought to answer. "I don't feel that way for you…" She cringed at how harsh it came out.

"I know, but…" The admission made a small, sharp pain attack his chest. The dark part of his subconscious told him he should stop, quit speaking before he made things worse. The man ignored it. "If you grew to love me…"

Kiki knew what the question was, and she hadn't the heart to answer it.

His voice was soft, hesitant, scared. "Would you marry me?"

As if in guilt, Kiki cast her eyes to the splintered floor. "I can't. I don't know if…if…"

"If you'll ever feel that way for me." The man almost sighed, a dejected and pained noise forming and dying in his throat.

The met eyes, and Kiki could see the hurt in them.

"It's alright, Kiki," he said, finally disengaging his hands from her elbows. They dropped like limp, useless wings to his sides. "I understand why you wouldn't."

But he didn't, and Kiki saw that, sensed his line of thinking as if it were broadcast across the sky. If he'd had a name, she would have called it as if left the room.

She didn't remember much after that, just standing by herself in the dark for what seemed like eternity before she finally made a move to leave. She remembered, however, walking through the silent halls until she got to an area she'd never been in before. The Forces had gently guided her until she came upon an old door, slightly cracked open.

'Roof Access' it read.

Without second thought, she pushed the wooden door open further, climbed the narrow, dark stairs till she came upon a second door that must have lead outside. She opened it, and chilly air poured into the stairwell.

Kiki stepped out onto the stone roof, looking about. The roof was wide and fenced, with a few tables and chairs at one end. Up above, a myriad of stars in a multitude of colors and sizes spread across the inky dark sky, multiple constellations stretched across. She couldn't hold in her gasp; Kiki had never gone out at night.

At the far right of the rooftop was a lone bench made of black iron. In that bench was the man.

Kiki quietly set out across the smooth stone, her footsteps barely making a sound. Eventually, she stood by the bench, watching him. She could only see the right side of his face, his lips pursed and eyebrow drawn down low. He looked annoyed.

She sat down on the bench, waiting for him to notice her. After a moment of unbearable silence, she spoke. "You look annoyed."

The man knew Kiki had been waiting for him to speak, but felt that any attempt at explaining himself or even _answering_ her would end in making a fool of himself.

"I am." It was the truth. He felt foolish and naive for thinking anyone would eventually come to accept the ugly parts of him. He felt like an idiot for thinking Kiki would even want to be friends with someone that was half monster. "Not at you, though," he added. He crossed his arms, maintaining a stubborn glare at the sky.

Kiki didn't quite know what to say. "I'm sorry I—"

"Don't," he interrupted, shaking his head. "Don't apologize; it isn't your fault."

She knew he wouldn't speak again after that. She sighed softly, watching the skies with him for a few minutes. With one last look to the man has he remained on the bench, she stood and went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter out, but hopefully this will tide you over. I have about five other fics I need to update, and this happened to get caught in the whirlwind of it all.
> 
> The next chapter should give us a deeper look at the man's way of thinking.
> 
> ~AAx


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